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Continued: A Ritual of Burning by Nissa Basbaum

Photos off the wall

Over the years, the wall has been received with enthusiasm and has certainly been a useful tool in assisting people in their identification of the members of our congregation. Besides this, the playfulness of both the artwork and the paper doll cut-outs lend a bit of colour and joy to an otherwise drab off-white wall. In fact, there has only been one side effect from this endeavour that has proved to be problematic. But this side effect is no small complication.

When a couple separates and divorces, or someone moves away or dies, it is not only awkward but, in many cases, heart-wrenching to remove their picture from this family tree. In fact, there is a resistance to taking these photos off the wall and, unfortunately, for this reason the task is often left to me. This past August, the reality of this situation came home rather painfully.

Somewhat unexpectedly, a long-time Transfiguration parishioner died. Isabel was a good age and she died well; in fact, the way most of us would want to – in her sleep. Upon our return from holidays in August, however, I discovered that Isabel's picture remained on the wall, left I guess for me to remove. After church one Sunday, I did this, following which I took the picture into my office to dispose of it; as usual, I couldn't do this.

Not unlike the leftover bits

As I went to throw away the green leaf on which Isabel's paper doll cut-out was pasted, of course, I couldn't let go of it or, what I probably should be saying is that I couldn't let go of her. I hadn't ever been able to do this before so I have no idea why I thought I would be able to do it this time. Most of the pictures that have come off the wall have ended up in my desk drawer, placed there in a Scarlett O'Hara, "I'll think about that tomorrow," sort of way. And, then, I don't think about it. Instead, I leave the pictures in the drawer and avoid the reality of having to say good-bye in what seems like such an uncaring fashion.

These pictures – those people from the parish who for whatever reason are no longer a part of our family – are, for me, not unlike the leftover bits of bread and wine following communion. Just as I can't imagine disposing of any of the members of the community as they are represented in those bits of bread and wine, I also cannot dispose of these photographs that represent a piece of the life-breath of Transfiguration's family. Yet, I have also learned that they cannot forever remain in my desk drawer, untouched because neither I nor anyone else in the congregation can find a satisfactory way of letting them go.

Reverence and Respect

Here, then, I find myself returning to the symbolism of the Eucharist and the changing of the bread and the wine into the Body of Christ. Some, though not all Anglicans, believe that if consecrated wine is spilled, the item on which this wine lands should be burned; for example, altar linens or a piece of carpet. Once upon a time, I might have considered this to be a little extreme and, even now, my practical side probably still does. Nonetheless, the act of burning this material illustrates and emphasizes that the consecrated wine is, indeed, the blood of Christ and therefore, the life-blood of the community. As such, at least metaphorically, the stain cannot – and should not – simply be "washed out."

A ritual of burning our paper doll cut-outs may be the way in which we at Transfiguration can appropriately let go of those from our community who have, for whatever reason, moved on. In fact, a ritual of burning may well be the one way in which all of us can express our reverence and respect for those we love even as we let them go.

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